


Good Friday

by slashy (slashmyheartandhopetoporn)



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4649484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmyheartandhopetoporn/pseuds/slashy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You got a problem with blood or is something else making your heart beat like bird wings?” says Raylan with a smirk.</p><p>Tim folds his arms. “Well now, the last time I bled in front of a vampire he about damn near took my head off, so forgive me if I get a little uneasy.”</p><p>It doesn't help That Raylan’s slinking closer; with every step Tim's heart beats harder.</p><p>“Want me to patch you up?” he asks.</p><p>“I want you to take a few steps back,” Tim replies curtly.</p><p>It's only the fact that they’re in the office waiting to debrief with Art that keeps Raylan from licking away that stark red stripe on Tim’s face, and damn if that doesn’t scare him half to death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raylan: 1930-1934

When Raylan is eight years old, his mother sits him down and tells him a secret.

“Magic is real,” she says.

Raylan’s just seen his daddy smack his mama across the face though. “It isn’t,” he says right back.

They’re sitting on the couch, a bowl of melting ice cream between them as some sort of saccharine apology for the events immediately preceding its appearance. Mama takes Raylan’s hands in her own before insisting, “It is, though, honey. You know those tonics Mama makes when you don’t feel good? Or when that preacher came by and sprinkled holy water on all our doors and windows?”

Raylan nods slowly. 

“It’s all magic, sweetie.” 

Raylan frowns and thinks of the preacher. “You mean religion?”

“Kind of,” his mama says with a nod. “Religion’s like a kind of magic.”

Raylan is young enough that the fear of God still sits within him. “Does magic come from the Devil?”

“I don’t know, Raylan,” Mama says honestly. “Sometimes I think it must, but then that would be judging those who have it. And you know we try very hard not to do that.”

Raylan nods, but he doesn’t know how to respond, so he says nothing.

“You know the Crowders?” his mama asks suddenly.

Raylan nods. His Daddy works for the Crowders, though no one’s ever told him exactly what he does for them. His mama and daddy had been fighting about the Crowders when he’d hit her. “They scare me,” Raylan admits quietly.

His mama presses her eyes closed a moment. “Raylan, baby, the Crowders are magic. And they’re dangerous magic; the devil’s magic maybe. You keep out of their way, you hear me?”

Raylan swallows. “Daddy says I’m supposed to work for them when I get older.”

“We’re not going to let that happen,” Mama tells him firmly.

“But Daddy–”

“Doesn’t have the only say in this household.” Then Mama picks up the bowl of forgotten ice cream. “Now let’s finish this together, okay?”

Raylan’s head is swimming and he doesn’t feel like eating. “It’s all melted now.”

His mama scoffs. “Nonsense. It’s just turned into ice cream soup. Tastes just as good, I promise.”

Raylan offers a small smile. They eat their ice cream soup together, and while it doesn’t taste as good as when it’s frozen, it’s still not half bad. Not with his mama there. 

Raylan won’t realize till much later just what kind of magic the Crowders are. That they don’t make tonics or have preachers come over to their homes to sprinkle holy water on their doors and windows.

 

+

 

When his mother dies two years later, Raylan understands that all promises she made about him and the Crowders are void. 

They’re all at the funeral and looking their best, but it’s Boyd Crowder who stands out the starkest to Raylan’s ten year old eyes. His wild hair shouldn’t work so well with his tailored suit, a gold pocket watch tucked into his vest. Raylan finds himself both enamored and afraid.

He doesn’t speak with Boyd until the reception afterwards. Raylan is standing awkwardly off to the side looking for Aunt Helen while his daddy drinks himself into oblivion in the next room, when Boyd is there before him. He kneels down so he’s Raylan’s height and sighs heavily. “I am so sorry for your loss, Raylan,” he says, and his voice is much softer than Raylan had anticipated. It has nothing of the harsh crassness of Bo and Bowman’s words. 

“Thank you, Mr. Crowder,” Raylan replies politely. 

“She was the best woman,” Boyd continues. “You grow up and do her proud now.”

Raylan nods and tries not to cry. His daddy wouldn’t like it if he did.

“You hungry? Let me fix you a plate of something,” and before Raylan can insist he’s really not hungry at all, Boyd’s disappeared. He comes back a few minutes later with a paper plate laden with cake, fruit, and cold cuts. “Wasn’t sure what you liked,” Boyd says with a gentle smile as he kneels down once more. 

Raylan wants to smile back–it’s the nice thing to do–but he finds he can’t. So he just says,“Thank you,” again.

“I like cake myself,” Boyd says with conspiratorial grin. “I’d eat it all the time if I could.”

Raylan cracks a hesitant smile then. “My mama made me cake and ice cream on my birthday.”

“As every mama should,” Boyd agrees. “I’m afraid there isn’t any ice cream today.”

“That’s okay,” Raylan says with a shrug. “I don’t want any today.” Boyd’s about to speak when Bo hollers for him from the kitchen. 

“Arlo’s losing it!” Bo cries. There’s a crash of dishes to confirm.

Boyd looks from the kitchen to Raylan. “I’m sorry, Raylan, but you’ll have to excuse me.” 

Raylan nods. “It’s okay. Thanks for being nice to me.” 

Boyd smiles. “Well now, Raylan, it was my genuine pleasure. Thank you for being so generous with your time as to spend a little of it speaking with me.” 

And then Boyd is gone to the kitchen. Aunt Helen takes his place a moment later.

“We’re you just talking to Boyd Crowder?” she asks sharply.

“Yes, ma’m,” Raylan answers.

“What did your mama tell you about those Crowder men?” she snaps.

“To keep away,” says Raylan. “I’m sorry, Aunt Helen. He brought me this food though.”

Aunt Helen’s face softens. “Fine. But don’t talk to him or any of the others again.”

 

+

 

Raylan follows her orders as long as he can, but shortly after he turns twelve, Arlo has other ideas. He sends Raylan on an errand with Bowman, even though Helen had threatened to skin him alive if he did.

“We need the money, woman!” Arlo had shouted, and that had been the end of it. Because they did.

Raylan wishes he was running the errand with Boyd, even though he hasn’t seen the man in two years. Even Johnny would have been a better option. Bowman is mean and spiteful, and he sets Raylan on edge.

“Where are we going?” Raylan asks. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of Bowman’s truck, watching out the window as the dusty back road they’ve been following for over an hour zooms past. 

“Just have to take care of something,” Bowman answers vaguely. “We’re about twenty minutes out now.”

When they finally arrive at their destination, it turns out to be a ramshackle cabin.

“Get out and stay behind me,” Bowman orders, and Raylan becomes very nervous.

He follows Bowman into the cabin, where some man Raylan doesn’t recognize is sitting at a card table, smoking a joint and drinking a beer.

“Why hello, Eli!” Bowman says loudly, a huge grin plastered to his face.

Eli does not look nearly so pleased. “Hi, Bowman,” he says nervously. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I know you weren’t,” Bowman agrees. “But this couldn’t wait.” 

Eli stands from the table and puts his joint out. “What couldn’t wait?”

Raylan isn’t sure exactly what happens next, because Bowman moves faster than Raylan’s eyes are capable of following. All Raylan knows is that one moment Eli had been breathing, standing, living. And the next Bowman’s teeth had been sunk deep into Eli’s neck.

Raylan makes a run for it, but he doesn’t make it far. Bowman, face smeared with Eli’s blood, beats him to the door and block’s Raylan’s exit.

“Come on now, boy!” He says jovially. “You can’t tell me you’re surprised.”

But Raylan is. He is very surprised. But he thinks back to his mother holding his hands on the couch and saying, “And they’re dangerous magic; the Devil’s magic maybe,” and thinks he probably shouldn’t be.

“Mama told me you were magic. She didn’t tell me what kind.”

Bowman laughs. “And of course Arlo didn’t tell you shit because he’s an asshole.”

Raylan’s instinct is to defend his kin, even the bad ones, but he’s not feeling very charitable towards Arlo right now.

“Well,” Bowman says, still chuckling. “Surprise!”

Every cell in Raylan’s body is telling him to run, but he knows he’d never get away.

Bowman seems able to read his mind. Raylan isn’t sure if that’s because he can, or if he’s really just that obvious. “Look, I know you want to make a break for it, but you’ve seen now how dumb that’d be. And everyone tells me you’re the smartest Givens to come around in decades. Must have gotten it from your mama.” Then Bowman is set laughing again. “Anyway, point is, don’t be an idiot.” 

Raylan nods tersely.

“Okay then,” Bowman continues. “I’ve got some shit to do, so you get to dig the hole. Shovel’s around back. I’ll toss his body out the back window for you.” Then Bowman heads for the card table and starts rooting around the haphazard stacks of paper there. “Oh, and if you try to run, I’ll know it, and I’ll come get you. And you won’t like what happens when I catch you.”

Raylan believes him.

It takes Raylan hours to dig a hole deep enough to satisfy Bowman, who refuses to help even after he’s done with whatever business he had inside. He just sits off to the side drinking beer while Raylan’s hands chap and bleed.

In the car afterwards, while Raylan tries not to think about the blood and dirt under his fingernails, he finally turns to Bowman.

“Am I ever going to have to do that again?” he asks tersely.

“It’s what Arlo sold you to me for,” Bowman says. 

“What?” Raylan says in a deep panic.

Bowman laughs once more at Raylan’s expense. “Shit, Raylan, I’m just messing with you. Naw, this was like an initiation. If we let you bury all our bodies, nothing else would ever get done.” He pauses a moment to let Raylan ponder just how many bodies the Crowders may be responsible for. “No, you’ll be tying up odds and ends for us, running errands, helping your daddy when he’s doing shit for us. That kind of thing.”

Raylan can’t feel relief at the vague explanation, and even if he was been able to, it would be short-lived.

“Now, when you’re older you’ll be getting your hands a lot dirtier. But you got another, what, six years before that?” Bowman takes one look at Raylan’s pale face and laughs some more. “Shit, Raylan. This is gonna be fun.”


	2. Tim: 2015

Tim doesn't care for vampires. He learned that real quick back in Afghanistan. Made the fact that his job was to put wooden bullets through their hearts all the more satisfying.

He doesn't care for Raylan either, first time he meets him. That damn hat.

"Hear we're getting that transfer vamp next week?" Nelson asks while Tim's pouring himself a cup of coffee. Rachel made it, so it's the the good stuff, and he doesn't want the likes of Nelson to snag the last cup's worth.

Tim, not one for office gossip (unless he's got nothing better to do and Rachel's the one sharing it), only shrugs. "I did," he answers curtly.

Nelson doesn't take the hint and continues talking. "He's some cowboy vampire--apparently wears a ten gallon hat and everything. I heard he shot Tommy Bucks back in Miami."

Tim fills his mug to the very brim. "Is that so."

Nelson nods. "It is."

"That's nice," Tim drones, then he makes for his desk, hands preternaturally steady so as to not spill a drop of his drink.

"See you later," Nelson calls after him.

Tim waves his free hand dismissively.

He settles into his desk and eyes the stack of paperwork before him warily. He likes paperwork about as much as he likes vampires. He tells himself he'll drink his cup of coffee and then tackle it, but as with many things he tells himself, he knows deep down it's probably not true.

Rachel parks herself on the corner of Tim's desk and spares him from having to think about it further.

"Here to tell me about that new cowboy vampire arriving next week?"

Rachel sips from her own cup of coffee and raises her eyebrows. "Did you want to talk about that new cowboy vampire arriving next week?"

Tim gestures grandly around him. "The office is all abuzz with the news."

"You mean Nelson is all abuzz with the news," Rachel counters.

Tim smirks. "Art say anything to you about him?"

Rachel shrugs. "Just that he knew him back in the day. Taught at Glynco together for a while."

"Ain't that nice," Tim says, voice feigning sweetness.

"Also heard he's a local boy," she says nonchalantly. "Grew up in Harlan County."

Tim perks up a bit at that. "Now that's interesting."

"Yeah, I thought so too."

"I bet he's an asshole."

Rachel snorts into her coffee. "And you think this why? Because he's from Harlan?"

"Heard he wears a cowboy hat," Tim explains. "Only assholes do that.”

"Well, obviously," Rachel agrees. “But the Harlan part doesn’t hurt.”

They sit quietly together a moment, sipping their coffees.

"How do you feel about having a vamp in the office?" Rachel eventually asks.

Tim puts a hand to his chest and acts affronted. "Rachel, we're in public. You know everyone thinks I don't have any feelings. You trying to out me as a real boy?"

Art ambles up to Tim's desk, catching the tail end of their conversation. "Better to out you for that than the other thing."

Tim narrows his eyes. "I could file a complaint for that comment."

"Yeah, you probably could," Art agrees. Then he tosses another file onto Tim's desk. "Once you two chickens are done gossiping, I need Tim to check that case out."

Tim sighs. "Got it, chief.”

Rachel stands from Tim's desk. "I'll let you get to it."

"I wish you wouldn't," Tim says, and it'd be a whine if it wasn't so flat.

"You make it sound like you don't want to be here," Art says with a frown. "Surely that isn't the case?"

"Of course not," Tim replies. "I love coming into work every day. Cross my heart."

Art smiles. "That's what I like to hear."

Tim sighs and gets to work, and doesn't let himself think about the impending arrival of a certain cowboy vampire until the following Monday rolls around and he's standing directly in front of him. All six feet and some inches (those inches belonging to the ridiculous hat atop his head).

Tim almost runs square into him once he steps off the elevator and through the office doors. He's loitering just beyond the entrance, blocking Tim's path and generally being an asshole as far as Tim can tell. (Again: that damn hat.)

"Can I help you?" Tim asks, eyeing the hat--the only clue as to the identity of the individual standing before him--his voice dry as sand and clearly indicating that helping the man is the last thing he'd like to do.

"Yeah," the vamp says, unconcerned with Tim's blatant rudeness. "I'm looking for Art Mullen."

"He can generally be found in his office, straight ahead of you."

The vampire gives Tim an amused look, which immediately puts Tim on edge. "It did occur to me," he says. "Funny thing is, he wasn't there."

"As I'm not Art's keeper, I'm afraid I can't help you further." Then Tim sidesteps the vamp and heads straight for the coffee pot. Rachel's there already, dumping packets of sugar into her mug, which means the coffee's shit. Tim mentally concludes the day's going to be shit, too.

"That looked like it went well," she says wryly.

"Quite," Tim agrees.  

They can't talk further though, because the vampire joins them at the coffee station and picks up a mug like he's been drinking shit coffee with them for years.

"Would you at least like to know my name so you know what to call me when you gossip about me at the water cooler?"

"No, see, we call this here device a coffee pot," Tim says without missing a beat.

"Rachel Brooks," Rachel says as she extends a hand. Tim's look screams _traitor_ in her direction.

"Raylan Givens," the vamp replies, shaking Rachel's hand gracefully. "And you?" he directs to Tim when he doesn't readily offer his name on his own.

"Tim," he replies curtly, and he doesn't put out a hand.

"He always such a dick?" Raylan asks Rachel with a bemused smile.

Rachel shrugs. "More or less."

Tim puts down his empty mug and says, "Since you're talking about me like I'm not here, I think I may as well go and leave you to it."

"You didn’t get any coffee, though,” Raylan says, and he almost sounds genuinely concerned. “I think we hurt his feelings," he continues when Tim doesn’t answer, and Rachel shakes her head.

"You're new here, so you don't know yet that Tim doesn't actually have any."

"That's my girl," Tim says, then he slinks off to his desk to shuffle through his paperwork and steadfastly pretend he doesn't have to work with a fucking vampire for the foreseeable future.

It’s hard, though, when Raylan takes a seat at the desk on Tim’s left, plunking his mug of coffee down loudly.

“Cozy,” Raylan says with an easy smile, and Tim gets the sense that Raylan does everything with a natural ease that’s eluded Tim in every area of life except his ability to aim a rifle.

“Not the word I’d use,” Tim says back stiffly as he boots up his computer.

“What word would you use?”

Tim sighs and gives Raylan a pointed look. “Crowded.”

Raylan grins wider. “You,” he begins, pointing a finger in Tim’s direction, “do not like vampires.”

“Maybe I just don’t like you?” Tim tries.

“You don’t know me,” Raylan says.

“I know you wear a ridiculous hat.”

Raylan nods and plucks the Stetson off his head. “Yeah, I picked up on the fact that you find it distasteful.”

Tim shrugs. “Makes it hard to take you seriously, is all.”

“I do live to be taken seriously.”

“Then I’d lose the hat.”

They stare each other down for a moment, Tim stiff and unfriendly, Raylan loose and still smiling.

“Well, this has been fun,” Raylan finally says.

“Oh, absolutely,” Tim deadpans.

Raylan gives Tim a weighted look that has Tim mentally squirming. But then Art steps off the elevator and through the doors and calls Raylan’s name, and the vampire’s up and out of his seat almost too fast for Tim to track.

God, he hates vampires.


	3. Raylan: 2015

Raylan knows when Art arrives on their floor--recognizes the sound of his weighted gait as he gets off the elevator, gets a small whiff of his classic cologne--well before Art enters the office and calls his name.

Part of Raylan is certainly excited to see his old friend and mentor again. Another part of him laments the fact that Art's arrival cuts short his banter with the young marshal he's sat next to. Raylan's been alive a long time, met an awful lot of humans, and he's come to appreciate the ones like Tim: the assholes who aren't afraid to be assholes just because convention calls for pleasantries. Raylan's one of those assholes too.

There'd also been the been the unspoken things Raylan had picked up on. Tim's neatly organized desk and shit handwriting visible on the notepad laying in the top right corner. The way his heart rate had spiked the moment Raylan's mug had landed loudly on his own desk, the minuscule jump Tim's shoulder had made. The way Tim had smelled like expensive gun oil, cheap hair product, and that female marshal's moderately priced perfume.

Raylan idly wonders if they're sleeping together before he catches Art's footsteps headed in their direction, and let's that train of thought roll to a stop.

"Raylan Givens!" Art says loudly, grin wide.

Raylan stands quickly (which warrants another heart rate spike from Tim) and walks out from behind his desk.

"Art Mullen," he replies warmly.

They make their way towards Art's office. "You look about the same," Art says as he opens the glass door. "Same hair, same boots."

"The boots are fairly new," says Raylan.

"Don't tell me that hat is new."

"It's not," Raylan says as he lifts the hat off his head.

"Yeah, I didn't think so." Art takes a seat behind his desk and gestures around the entire office. "Welcome to the Lexington branch of the United States Marshal Service."

Raylan takes the seat across and sets his hat between them. "It's quaint."

"Shit," Art says with a laugh. "That bad?"

"No," Raylan replies. "Just a little dated looking maybe.”

Art scoffs. "Says by far the oldest thing in the whole building."

"That just means I'd know firsthand."

"I guess I can't argue with that. You seen Winona yet?"

Raylan feels the question like a slap. "Why would I have seen Winona?"

Art shrugs. "She works right downstairs. She's a court reporter; guess I figured you'd known. Kind of thought you came back to Kentucky because of her."

Raylan shakes his head, perhaps a little too fervently. "Art, I was re-assigned here. I didn't ask to come back."

"Well, now I feel like the girl who got dumped on her prom night. Here I thought you'd missed your ol' pal Art."

Raylan smiles. "I thought you assumed I came back for Winona, not you."

"Well, Winona was just a cover obviously. Wanted you to be able to save face and not have to admit directly that it was really me you missed. Now I see it's none of us at all."

Raylan laughs. "So, what's my first day to be like?"

Art puts on his reading glasses and digs through the paperwork on his desk. "Honestly, I thought I'd just throw you right into the shit."

"I'm not sure I want to know what that means," Raylan says wryly.

Art's hands still once he finds the file he's looking for. He takes off his glasses and tosses the offending paperwork Raylan's way without a word. Raylan lets out a _whoosh_ of breath when he sees the name at the top.

"Oh," he says.

"Yep," Art says with a nod.

The file is on Boyd Crowder.

"I see now what you mean about throwing me right into it."

"Well, as you know you're our first vampire here in the Lexington office. Most of the vamp criminals here are idiots, the human marshals more than enough to take care of them all. Between Tim and Rachel alone I think for a good while we had the whole state whipped."

"But the Crowder clan...." Raylan interjects.

"They're another story. Went into a bit of a shamble after Bo got himself killed by clan back in Miami, but Boyd's circled his wagons and rebuilt the whole infrastructure from the inside out. You're here partly because that shit you pulled with Tommy Bucks--no pun intended--but also because we need your specific background with Harlan County and the Crowders."

"And even more specifically, with Boyd."

"Yes, sir. Always were whip smart, weren't you, Raylan. Boyd's influence is spreading; he's reestablishing ties to the Bennetts, the Crowes, and just about damn near every other major vampire-related crime in Eastern Kentucky, and now we suspect he's building possible relationships up in Frankfurt."

"The Dixie Mafia, you mean?"

"I do. We think Boyd's gearing up to something big with them. An associate for the Frankfurt vamps, a human cockroach named Wynn Duffy, has been down here an awful lot. Lives out of a winnebago with his body guard, and spends a lot of time at the bar Boyd Crowder owns."

Raylan frowned. "He still running Audrey's too?"

"His fiance, Ava Crowder, is in charge of the whorehouse."

"Jesus, really? She's still alive?"

Art nods. "Bowman Crowder married and turned her back in '62."

"Then how'd she get to be Boyd's fiance?"

"Shot Bowman with a shotgun loaded with wooden rounds and burned his heart herself in '75."

"Shit," Raylan said with a blink.

"Indeed. Now, we got an ADA willing to pool his resources and put Crowder away for good, if we can finally catch him at whatever game he's playing."

Raylan sighs. "Which is, of course, where I come in."

"Well, you did know him, didn't you?"

Raylan pauses and allows himself a rare moment to think back on his decades spent alongside the infamous vampire outlaw, Boyd Crowder.

He looks up at Art and says, "We dug coal together."


	4. Raylan: 1939

When Raylan is seventeen years old, he starts working for Boyd Crowder. Bowman calls Raylan into his makeshift office, which is really just a broken down trailer on the Crowder family property, to tell him the news. He seems unhappy with the turn of events, so Raylan tries to keep his own relief at the announcement hidden away. There’s tension in the Crowder clan--always is, but it’s been especially contentious lately--so Raylan can’t tell if his reassignment is a promotion, demotion, or the result of a mere shuffling of the staff around, and he doesn’t much care. He’s just glad to be done cleaning up after Bowman.

Raylan spent three years running Bowman’s errands, selling shitty Crowder pot--though nowhere the Bennett clan might find out about it--and taking care of all the other miscellaneous shit during the day that Bowman was too lazy to see to himself, citing sun fatigue more often than Raylan could count. Then there was another two years of the kind of hard and unforgiving labor he’d been initiated with in the beginning, shooting rival vamps caught on the premises or charged with screwing over the Crowders in some way, and then burning their bodies after Bowman was done torturing them. Raylan figures he’ll be doing more of the same with Boyd, but Boyd’s always been considered the fairest Crowder of the bunch, and as such he’s developed a strange sort of following among his human scut workers. Raylan’s not planning to join said cult, but it’s reassuring to know that Boyd’s people would rather worship him than quietly plot his demise.

Raylan’s seen Boyd over the last few years, of course. Held a few conversations with the vampire that were short and to the point. Yes, Arlo’s just fine. No, Helen’s not left him yet. Yes, Bowman’s in his office. No, he didn’t leave any survivors. Every time he speaks with Boyd, Raylan remembers the way Boyd had crouched down and spoken to Raylan with respect all those years ago. He doubts Boyd even remembers the exchange they shared, but he’s got a foolish hope that the vampire just might. Because despite all the common sense Arlo’s done his level best to beat into his son, Raylan’s still as taken with Boyd Crowder as he was as a child. Wild hair and ridiculous vests included.

The first day he reports to Boyd, Raylan’s nervous as all hell. He knocks on Boyd’s office door (and it’s a real office since Boyd’s little slice of the Crowder Dynasty is a whorehouse called Audrey’s; Boyd will confess to Raylan years later, voice soft and expression tender, that he’d had dreams of buying a Dairy Queen franchise, but Daddy Bo had shut those dreams down quick, so Boyd simply had Audrey’s) and waits for permission to enter.

“Come on in, Raylan!” Boyd says jovially, and so Raylan steps inside. Boyd is reclined in his chair, his feet on his desk, dressed in his usual smart attire, and he’s grinning wide. “I do hope you found the place all right.”

“Yes, sir, I did,” Raylan replies politely with a nod.

Boyd pulls a face. “You can cut the ‘sir’ bullshit. Bowman make you say that?”

Raylan’s not sure if this is some kind of test, if Boyd is waiting for Raylan to bad mouth Boyd’s brother so he can teach him a lesson about loyalty. So he stays silent.

“This ain’t some sort of trick question,” Boyd says kindly. “But I’ll take it from your silence that my dear brother did ask for such honoraries.”

Raylan, relieved, nods again and says, “He did.”

“Well, I don’t mess with all that. Just call me Boyd unless I’m pissed at you.” He jabs a finger at Raylan. “ _Then_ you call me Mr. Crowder.”

“I’ll take note,” Raylan says.

Boyd's wearing a bemused smile when he says, “You’re a man of few words aren’t you?" He takes his feet off the desktop and puts his elbows there instead. “Can I pour you a drink to help loosen that tongue?”

“No, thank you, I’m all right.”

Boyd sighs. “Come on, Raylan. Take a seat and drink a couple fingers of whiskey with me.”

Boyd is smiling widely, every inch the polite host, but there’s something in the look of his eyes that has Raylan recognizing an order when he hears one. So he pulls out the chair across the desk and takes a seat. “That’s real nice of you, Boyd,” he says with a gracious smile, and Boyd grins wider.

“You’re a quick learner, Raylan,” Boyd says with satisfaction, and there’s something about the way he keeps saying Raylan’s name that starts a pleasant fire kindling in Raylan’s belly. Boyd pulls out one of the bottom desk drawers and produces a bottle of Wild Turkey and two tumblers.  

“I knew you were wasted on Bowman,” he says as he pours the drinks. “That asshole wouldn’t know a good thing if it crawled into bed with him and took his limp little dick in her mouth.”

Raylan laughs a little despite himself. Boyd ain’t wrong.

“Now, there’s a smile,” Boyd says. He hands Raylan a glass and then holds his own up for a toast. “To our new working relationship,” he says when Raylan clinks their glasses together.

“So, I hear you’re a pretty mean shot,” says Boyd after a sip.

Raylan shrugs. “I ain’t bad.”

“No need to be modest. I heard about Danny Crowe.”

“Danny Crowe was an idiot,” says Raylan, and if he weren’t inside Boyd’s office he’d spit to show just how little he thought of the vampire. “Shooting him was no real difficulty.”

Boyd seems amused at Raylan’s attitude. “Still. Idiot or no, you shot him dead center from from less than twenty feet away. And being a vampire, that fucker was mighty quick.”

Raylan shrugs again. “Some say my shooting him did more harm than good.”

Boyd waves a hand. “My daddy forgets Dewey’s loyal to the Crowders, and Daryl won’t do a damn thing so long as that’s the case. So as far as I’m concerned you did a good thinking in relieving the world of one more Crowe.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Raylan replies, and they clink their glasses together again.

“So,” Boyd says after finishing his drink. “You ready to get to work?”

Raylan smiles. Thinks to himself, _Maybe this won’t be so bad_. Says, “Yes, Boyd, I do believe I am.”

And they get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I changed up the Danny Crowe situation, but I wanted to establish Raylan as a badass, even at seventeen.


	5. Tim: 2015

The moment Raylan’s in Art’s office, Tim makes his way to Rachel’s desk. Before she can even open her mouth, Tim’s snapping, “I absolutely do not want to talk about it.” 

Rachel raises her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

“That’s a bold-faced lie.” 

Rachel’s face does a good job of suggesting otherwise, but Tim knows his fellow Marshal too well, so he holds her gaze with a glare of his own until she folds.

“Fine. I was thinking of saying at least one word.”

“One word too many.”

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t say anything.” She pauses while Tim looks surly and sips his shit coffee before adding, “He is cute though.” Rachel is gratified when Tim almost chokes.

“We’re not having this conversation.”

“You mean, _you’re_ not having this conversation. I, however, am more than happy to wax poetic about Mr. Harlan's legs that go for days. And my stars, that _hat_.”

If Tim were a cat, his tail would be three times larger than normal. As it is, the only real indication of his upset is the utter stillness of his entire being, until he abruptly turns and hurries back to his own desk.

Nowhere is safe from Rachel’s pleased smile though, as she follows him leisurely back to his chair. “You forget we have a job to do?”

Tim groans. He had forgotten. “Which asshole are we supposed to track down today again?”

“Dewey Crowe.”

A heavy sigh. “Right.” Tim downs the rest of his coffee. “Let’s go get him, tiger.”

 

+

 

Dewey’s no significant threat except for the fact he’s deeply roped in with the Crowder clan, and has been for decades. He’s also their sole connection to the Crowe clan down in Florida, which is partly why the Crowder family’s always been such a bitch to deal with—they have ties every which where, weak as they may have been for the last fifty years. 

But Dewey’s a dumbass, and almost pure in his own way as a result. Makes it hard for Tim to hate him. Mostly he just feels real sorry for the shitheel vamp, pathetic and naïve as he is. Makes him feel a little bad every time he has to throw Dewey in jail for whatever stupid stunt he’s tried to pull on Boyd’s behalf.

That’s mostly why Tim’s not looking too forward to driving down to Harlan to try to scare Dewey into unintentionally coughing up the details to Boyd’s latest master plan, or at least scare him into running to Boyd to let him know the Marshals are on his clan’s asses, and especially Boyd’s since it’s unlikely Dewey knows anything of value to start with.

“You ever get the feeling we should set up an office just for Harlan county?” Tim asks half-way through the drive.

Rachel snorts. “And who’d we get to make the move?” 

There’s a moment of quiet before they both conclude at the same time: “Nelson.”

“And maybe this new Harlan cowboy,” Rachel adds innocently.

"Jesus, Rachel. Fine. You want to talk about him? Then let's go ahead and fucking talk about him.”

Rachel shrugs. “I don’t know what you expected, Tim. It had to happen sometime. You do know we're one of the only offices in the entire country that doesn't have a resident vampire on its team, right? Or at least, we _were_.”

“I know it did,” Tim acquiesces. “I guess I just hoped it’d happen after I’d already retired or gotten killed heroically in action.”

“As if either of those things were possible. No one, man or vampire, has been able to get the drop on you, and I’d like to see you just _try_ to be retired; you couldn’t live with the boredom of it.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right.”

A scoff. “I’m always right.”

“Bullshit. I can think of at least one instance just today when you were wrong as hell.”

Rachel shoots Tim an amused look. “Oh, was I? Please enlighten me.”

“You said the vamp was cute.”

Rachel lets out a burst of laughter. “I know you’ve decided to hate Raylan on sight, but you are not seriously going to argue he’s not easy on the eyes.”

Tim looks ready to do just that when Rachel is laughing at him again, and he snaps his mouth shut. “Fine,” he says finally. “He’s not too bad to look at.”

“See,” Rachel says, extending a comforting hand to Tim’s shoulder. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Tim shakes her hand off. “No comment.” 

“And it’s like I said,” Rachel replies lightly. “Always right.”

 

+

 

When they get into Harlan they find Dewey camped out at Audrey’s. They pass Ava on the way in, which is even better for making their presence seem as ominous as possible, as Ava's certainly smart enough to realize that when the marshals are in town it means shit's happening with her kind sooner or later. Tim nods at her politely, relaxed smile plastered to his lips.

“How can I help you two,” Ava asks, always the good host.

“Dewey around?” answers Rachel.

Ava shrugs. “Might be. You know Dewey, always running around like a chicken with his head cut off.”

“Scatterbrained,” Tim agrees, and his tone suggests he’s being literal.

“Ain’t that just the perfect word,” Ava says with a laugh. “Please, deputies, feel free to take a look around.” She grins so her fangs can peak out from between her lips. “You know me—never had a thing to hide. Not even Dewey Crowe.”

Tim nods again while Rachel says, “Thank you, Mrs. Crowder.” Ava watches them leave, her smile still firmly in place.

Dewey’s out in a trailer with Ellen May, a human disaster that’s found herself in trouble more often than not. It’s no surprise to Tim that Dewey’s so fond of her. They’re not yet in the midst of the act—Tim’s greatest fear when Rachel had knocked on the trailer door—but when Dewey swings the door open with an irate, “What!” he’s down to his underwear and that ridiculous crocodile tooth necklace only. In bed, it’s evident Ellen May isn’t wearing a thing.

“Mr. Crowe, you mind stepping out of the trailer for a moment,” Rachel asks.

“I do mind,” Dewey snaps. “I’m in the middle of something here; I’d’ve thought that was obvious.”

“Get out of the trailer, Dewey,” Tim orders. “And put some pants on first.”

Dewey looks terribly affronted to the point where Tim has to resist the urge to laugh, but he returns into the trailer where Rachel and Tim can hear him rooting around for his pants and swearing heavily.

Rachel only closes her eyes against the frustration that is Dewey Crowe until the trailer door opens once more and a fully-clothed Dewey re-emerges.

“What do you want, then?” he asks.

“Boyd had a visitor from Frankfurt the other day, didn’t he? Man named Wynn Duff,” Tim says. “You know why he seems to have set up shop in town?”

“I don’t know shit,” says Dewey. “Can I get back to Ellen May now?”

Rachel folds her arms. “Oh, come on now, Dewey. Haven’t you been bragging from here to the everglades that you’re Boyd’s new right hand man?”

Dewey folds his arms to match Rachel. “That’s because I am,” he bullshits.

“So you must be able to tell us something about why Boyd’s been working with the Frankfurt vamps.”

“I’m not telling you shit.”

Tim smiles. “So then Boyd _is_ working with Frankfurt.”

Dewey gapes. “I didn’t say that! You said that.”

“But you didn’t disagree,” Rachel says. “That’s as good as an admission as far as we’re concerned. As far as Boyd’s concerned, too, I’d guess.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dewey spits. “And I’m done talking to you.” Then he stamps back into the trailer.

Tim smiles at Rachel. “How long you think before he goes running to Boyd?” he asks quietly.

“Not very, I’d wager.”

"Then I'd say that's a job well done."

Rachel turns to leave. "Good. I can't stand this place."

Tim snorts. "You and me both, sister."


	6. Raylan: 2015

Raylan leaves his conversation with Art a lot less enthusiastic than when he'd started it, which was saying something since he hadn't had a lot of enthusiasm at the beginning either. Coming back to Harlan had always meant an inevitable reunion with Boyd (though the knowledge of Winona's presence had been an unexpected punch to the gut), but he'd been hoping to put it off till absolutely necessary, not show up on day one and be delivered the knowledge that almost his sole purpose for being in Harlan in the first place was to deal with Boyd Crowder. There wasn't anything to be done about it, though. He was here to do a job, and he had every intention of doing it just as well as any other. 

Raylan sits back down at his desk to finish his cup of coffee and considers the turn his life has just taken. Being the kind of man he is, there's really only one thing to be done, however. So after swallowing the last bit of his burned dark roast, Raylan grabs the keys to his new town car and makes his way to the parking lot. A trip down to Harlan county is in order. 

 

+

 

Art's file on Boyd indicated he'd since moved his operations headquarters from the whorehouse to he bar that used to belong to Boyd's cousin, Johnny. The news of Johnny's death--at the hands of Boyd, no less--still has Raylan a bit surprised. They'd always gotten along back when Raylan had still been in Boyd's service. Still, he can't say he's sad to learn of Johnny's passing. He'd always been kind of a snake.

When Raylan arrives at the bar, closed given the mid-morning hour, the only person there to greet him is Dewey Crowe, seated outside and smoking a cigarette. "Well shit," Raylan says. "How are you still alive?" He'd known Dewey was still around, of course, but he also knows assuming otherwise will annoy the idiot vamp.

"What the hell are you doing back here?" Dewey says, nettled. "I thought Boyd ran you out for good years ago."

Raylan shrugs. "That what he tell?" 

"Well, not exactly," says Dewey, "But--" he's cut off by the sight of Raylan reaching a hand out for the door knob. "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Dewey snaps, throwing his cigarette down to the ground.

Raylan puts on an innocent expression. "I just stopped by for a drink. This is still a bar, right?"

Dewey looks ready to say something, hand already flitting above the gun in his back pocket, when the door opens and Raylan is suddenly faced with Boyd Crowder in all his glory. He looks exactly the same, and for a brief moment Raylan feels his whole body go lax at the sight of the older vampire, like every cell's forgotten they're no longer on goodly terms.

"There you are," Boyd says quietly, eyes wide with something that looks suspiciously like wonder to Raylan. "Look at you!" he continues, this time with much more enthusiasm. "The suit, the necktie. Looking good!" Then a little warily, "Looking like a _lawman_."

At which point Dewey splutters, "Jesus, not _another_ one! I already had to run off two marshals at Audrey's about an hour ago."

Boyd looks unconcerned. "It's fine, Dewey." Then he looks up at Raylan again, gaze catching on Raylan's Stetson. "Now see, Dewey, this is how you wear a hat: all casual. Not down over your ears like you do."

"What the hell's going on, Boyd," Dewey asks nervously. "I run off those other marshals; you want me to run him off too?"

Boyd laughs a little, eyes still glued to Raylan. "No, Dewey. I'd rather we all go inside and have you get us a jar and two glasses. Then you go ahead and come back out here, maybe smoke another cigarette. This party's just for Raylan and me."

"So that's an invitation inside?" Raylan asks.

"Shit, Raylan. You know you've got an open invitation to just about any place of mine."

"That is good to know."

After they get inside, Dewey sets them up with the shine and the glasses and then goes back outside, glaring daggers at Raylan the entire time. 

Boyd smiles at Dewey's back and shakes his head. "He always was stubborn." Then he pours Raylan and himself a drink. "Like old times," he says as he raises his glass.

Raylan doesn't bother hiding his small smile. "I'll drink to that." The smile's gone, however, once he's downed the liquor, which burns something fierce all the way along his mouth and throat. 

Boyd laughs as Raylan's eyes water. "You been gone too long."

Raylan coughs. "God damn."

Boyd slips into one of the chairs, using his foot to kick out another. "So what was it like back in Florida?"

"Just as advertised--sunny and hot," answers Raylan as he takes the offered seat.

"I just don't think I could live somewhere with all the sun. Don't know how you stood it."

"The view was nice. And I had my hat."

Boyd chuckles at that, then sobers. "You seen your daddy yet?"

Raylan's good humor peters out as well. "No. Not yet."

"Well, I want you to know we took good care of Arlo when he passed. He's on a real nice plot. Him and Helen both."

"You know I don't much give a damn, Boyd. But while we're on the subject, how's your daddy, then?"

Boyd sighs. "I suspect you know exactly how my daddy is. He and Bowman both, God rest their tortured souls." 

Raylan can't suppress his snort. 

Boyd tilts his head. "You know, word is he got himself done in thanks to a deal gone bad with a cartel out in Miami."

Raylan gives Boyd an almost impish grin. "You ever wonder if I had anything to do with that?"

Boyd smiles. "Oh, Raylan, you know me. I don't wonder anything. I either know, or am about to know."

"I don't doubt it, Boyd. And that's why you always get what you want."

"And what is it that you think I want?"

Raylan gives Boyd a hard look. There's no lighthearted feel to their conversation now. "You want to get money and tear shit up, simple as that."

Boyd's smile drops. "You think you know me? After all this time? Well, I still know you too, Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens. And what I know is that more than anything in this world, _you_ like to shoot bad people. You know, I heard about that gun thug you shot down in Miami."

"You heard about that?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, we have TVs down here now, Raylan."

"I see."

"But I just have to ask," and there's a dangerous edge to Boyd's words, "at any point, when you were looking at that gun thug, did you see your daddy's face? Better yet, did you see mine?"

Raylan purses his lips and stands. "It was good to see you, Boyd. Trust I'll be seeing you again."

Boyd stands, too. "Going so soon? We've barely gotten to catch up at all."

"I think we've caught up enough." Then Raylan walks towards the exit.

"Hey, Raylan," Boyd calls out. "Let me ask you a question before you go. Would you shoot me if you get the chance?"

Raylan heaves a sigh and looks Boyd dead in the eye. "You make me pull," he says with a soft smile, "I'll put you down."

Boyd laughs a little, and Raylan knows that despite everything, the answer's pleased him. "Indulge me just one more?" Boyd asks, and Raylan nods. 

"Did you come all the way out here just to see me?"

Raylan doesn't know if Boyd means Harlan county or the whole state of Kentucky, and ultimately he knows it doesn't matter. His answer would be the same. 

He looks at Boyd, and with the same easy smile answers, "What do you think?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been hoarding chapters 5 and 6 for literally months now, in the hopes i would be writing more and could keep to my "two chapters in the wings" rule. but i don't know when i'll get back to this fic. i refuse to say it's dead, tim, but it's hard with the show over. figured i may as well just let these fellas out into the wild so my subscribers would have something new at least.


End file.
